He’s high on his own ego,
has to tell everyone he can:
“You’ve found the real deal;
pay homage to the talented man!”
Dismisses most other writers:
“Generic! Quit while you’re ahead!
Come turn tricks at my temple;
pray to the talented man instead!”.
It was there that he lost me.
I couldn’t read another letter.
Talent needn’t blow its own trumpet
nor mould monuments to being better.
It wasn’t that he was untalented;
there was a fine phrase here and there.
Yet when one overlooks other authors,
you lay foundations formed of thin air.
This wide writing web we’ve weaved,
where each writer sews their strand.
Should you see someone struggling,
maybe you should stop and lend a hand?
If he hadn’t perched so high above,
I may have offered to help him too.
As he dismisses me as a mere mortal,
there’s only so much that I can do.
Does he truly have a direction?
Does anyone share his master plan?
It must be an awfully lonesome life
when you are such a talented man.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.